In the Eyes of the Ancient
by Nike Athena
Summary: OneshotHow the Thief King views pain... and his opinion of Ryo's. YAOI? Hmmm... read and find out...


**Author's Notes and Miscellany: **This is semi-related to another fic I shall be posting up shortly. This was inspired by... I dunno... all the weak people of the world. No, not really, just kidding. This is actually what my take is on how the Thief King feels about Ryo and the boy's view on pain and torment. Morbid much, huh? Kind of drabbly, PG-13-ish. Vaguely pr0nish.

**Disclaimer:** AND I STILL DON'T OWN YU-GI-OH! OMG!

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Bakura Ryo felt his jaw clench and his body stiffen with the blow to his solar plexus; a bright splinter of pain exploded in his stomach and spider webbed through the rest of his body. He let out his breath in a choke; blood spattered from his mouth and onto the dry-as-dust pavement. As though they knew they had crossed an invisible line, Sasabe and his gang backed away immediately. Ryo couldn't hear what they were saying, but their tormenting stopped and they seemed to flee.

He lay still in the pale gold and black aftermath of pain, waiting for his mind to shake itself back awake; he was an old hand at this thing, really. Take a beating, and don't fight back, and if it's bad enough, your mind will go blank. When that happens, don't be alarmed, just wait. Wait, and eventually you'll be able to think again.

As always, his thoughts came back with the heavy sound of his breathing which, accompanied with the sound of the roaring in his ears, he called Static. Past the Static, the voice of his mind, small, dull and pathetic started chanting the mantra that usually came after a beating. "…the worst… pathetic…should be ashamed… such…such a little girl…" And then a new phrase came unbidden, making him squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw again, blood oozing out from between his teeth. A small stream of tears started from his already reddened eyes as the sing-song sentence continued. "Not fair, not fair, not fair… why me, why me, why me?..."

He was still trying to choke back the pain when the Voice started to talk to him; for the whole five years he had heard the voice, it had never been chatty, or interrupting. It seemed to have its own agenda, and the Pathetic Life of a Teenaged Boy didn't seem to interest it too much. Sometimes, it would chuckle dryly in the recesses of his mind, scaring him badly; other times it told him to do seemingly pointless things. The only reason he knew he wasn't crazy was because it never told him to do _excruciatingly_ pointless things, like "Blow out the candle that waitress just lit." or even "Kick that old lady." It was usually something like "Stop and look at that advertisement in the shop window." Or "Ask to see the puzzle your friend wears around his neck." It was as if the Voice inside him was curious about things, but not pettily sadistic. As if it definitely had its own thoughts and reasons.

It never intervened on his daily activities, unless it seemed as though something very Important was happening. Or rather, only Important to the Voice. Ryo was often left in confusion when he lost control, and was only more confused when he woke up. And besides for that, the Voice didn't seem to have much in the way of a sense of justice. It kept silent while Ryo was beaten, and it felt to Ryo as though his suffering was a) a source of pleasure and amusement and b) a source of agonizing boredom.

Now was one of the times it talked to him, seemingly, just to talk. "Not fair?" The Voice was quiet, almost gentle, but it held a note of unmistakable scorn.

"Yes." Ryo answered, sobbing despite the pain it caused in his abdomen. "This type of thing shouldn't be allowed to _happen_ to anyone. It's not fair." The Voice went quiet, as though considering what he said. Then, after a long time, right when Ryo had thought it had stopped talking, it continued.

"'Type of thing?' You think this is pain? Foolish child, you've never, ever experienced true _pain_." Abruptly, Ryo felt himself stop crying; his mind, humming and throbbing, went quiet so quickly it startled him. "That's why you're such an asset to me, such an easy target. Your mind is soft, gentle and weak. The loss of you sister and mother, painful? Please don't make me laugh. The reason you're so soft and weak is _because_ you've never experienced true pain." A stretch of silence. "Or perhaps the pain has only made you weak." A laugh, dry and as devoid of humor as a scream of rage. "Yes. Perhaps you are one of those who break under pain. There are those, child, who grow stronger when tested, and those who quiver and break."

Ryo twisted onto his back and hugged his arms to his body, gasping. The Voice snorted, as though now growing truly disgusted. "The noises you make are good ones, but they make you seem terribly pathetic. Go find a place that can heal you. And stop _crying_. Remember what I said." And now, with the white sunlight beating down on his face, Ryo felt the pain grow distant, almost inconsequential. The blood seemed to rush from his body, the sensation leaving him weak and cold feeling. Because the Voice was probably right.

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Like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! Even flames are welcome! (Yes, I'm that desperate) 


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